


May You Find Some Comfort Here

by bofoddity



Category: 18th Century CE Russia RPF
Genre: Fluff with touch of angst, Gen, Introspection, Pre-Slash, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:50:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8889682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bofoddity/pseuds/bofoddity
Summary: Brockdorff's Prince comes to him during a thunderstorm.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alley_Skywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/gifts).



> I'm going with the idea that Brockdorff is just one or two years older than Peter, he just takes himself and his duties very seriously.

Brockdorff had retired early that day, so when the storm rolled over the lands of Holstein-Gottorp, he was in deep sleep. It only took the first rumble of thunder to start him awake, and the first crackle of a lightning to urge him to get up; he dragged himself out of the bed, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes as fast as possible as he looked around for a robe, knowing he needed to get ready. However, there were few things in the world to make his Prince hurry the way a thunderstorm did, and this time was no different; Brockdorff's preparations were soon interrupted by a shy, gentle knock from the door.

A less attentive man would have easily missed such a knock, but not Brockdorff. He had served Karl Peter of Holstein-Gottorp for a little over a year by now, and he had learned that Peter - as he insisted he should be called, that Brockdorff still had to remind himself to do - would rather be ignored than bother his own servants, which never failed to astound Brockdorff. Therefore, he kept his ears extraordinarily alert for his royal ward, determined to never miss a summoning.

"Come in," he called out. Of course, as a royal Peter had the right to barge into Brockdorff's chambers whenever he wanted to, but treating Brockdorff as the master of his own rooms was one of Peter's many quirks, and this one was one of the easier ones to indulge so that's what Brockdorff did. He straightened himself up and prepared to bow as Peter slipped into the room, with swiftness of a spy desperate not to be caught. He looked pale and meek, as he always did during storms; nevertheless he immediately got annoyed when he caught the sight of Brockdorff bending his head down to greet him.

In his position, it was easy for Brockdorff to hide a smile; who would have thought he would end up serving a master who disapproved servants following the proper etiquette? Peter's insistence to be called Peter seemed to be such an innocent request in retrospect, compared to all that came afterward.

"My father has business to attend to," Peter said finally, hugging himself lightly as he looked around Brockdorff's room, taking note of his books, clothes, every piece of furniture, the front of Brockdorff's shirt- everything but Brockdorff's eyes. Brockdorff waited, familiar with the routine; neither of them was supposed to be doing this. Peter wasn't supposed to go to his chamberlain when a storm came and Brockdorff wasn't supposed to indulge him like this, to even entertain the notion that he would do something other than walk Peter straight back to his chambers.

One way or another, no matter how careful either of them were, the word would go back to Peter's tutors, his father or all of them, and they would both be punished for it. As a servant, Brockdorff should have known better than to play with his position.

And yet..

"Would you like to stay with me?" he asked.

This happened every time, too: Peter's eyes lit up, as did his entire face, and he was smiling as he started to shed his robe and slippers.

Brockdorff turned to fluff up the bed for them both, but he kept observing Peter from the corner of his eyes. The storm outside was quiet, the thunder distant and the cracks of lightning gone; depending on how long the storm had lasted when Brockdorff had slept, it was possible it had reached its peak upon the moment it had woken Brockdorff up and had never been so intense in the first place. Peter could have possibly tolerated it all on his own, but he had chosen to come to Brockdorff anyway. Sometimes that meant that his lessons with his tutors had been rough on that day, especially ones with Brümmer.

He thought of times when Peter had come to him with the slightest hint of a limp in his step, with eyes red from fresh tears, and watched for them closely as Peter approached the bed. He fell slack with relief when noticed signs of neither, nor anything else that indicated distress, and smiled to Peter as they slipped between the sheets together.

"What was that look about?" Peter asked him as they settled against the pillows, forehead crumpled with a frown. So deep were his wrinkles that he more than likely knew exactly what Brockdorff's look had been about, so Brockdorff dared to go straight to the point:

"When will you get rid of Brümmer?"

To his surprise, Peter's forehead smoothed out and he uttered a soft laughter, as if he had feared that Brockdorff would ask something worse. As Brockdorff tried to figure out just what Peter could fear, Peter said:

"I really don't want to talk about that." Peter lied down fully on the and pulled the blanket up to his neck, determined to end the conversation.

"I don't want to talk about him either. That's why I am, so we can cease forever." Brockdorff propped himself up on one elbow as he looked down on Peter. Peter laughed again, but there were shadows in his eyes, anxiety in the grip of his fingers as he pulled at the blankets to cover them both. But Peter didn't try to turn away from Brockdorff, so Brockdorff went on: "I just don't think that he's necessary around here. You wouldn't need to worry so worried all the time, either."

If Peter didn't dream of a world where he didn't carry all the griefs of Holstein-Gottorp on his shoulders, Brockdorff did, and he dreamed more than enough for both of their sake. He may have thought that Peter was strange and found him hard to understand, but he also realized that the boy in his care was someone very special, and Brockdorff himself seemed to be the only one who realized this. Brockdorff didn't care about the opinions of Brümmer or any other tutor's, or even Peter's father, but he wished Peter himself was able to see his own light. He hoped he could make that happen one day.

Peter looked at him hesitantly, gnawing on his lower lip. Finally, he closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

"My father would never agree," Peter said. "He says I need guidance. He wouldn't listen if I talked to him."

"I believe he might." Peter's father wasn't a perfect man, and allowed Brümmer to get inside his head and stir unwanted thoughts there even easier than poor Peter did, but Peter's father did love his son. Brockdorff had hope that if Peter only talked to him, his father would listen to his own child over some unpleasant old man.

"I'll think about it," Peter replied.

Brockdorff sighed, but knew it was useless to continue the conversation; even if Peter had trouble standing up for himself with anyone else, he did know how to stand his ground with Brockdorff, friends or not. Brockdorff lied down against the pillows himself, closing his eyes as he wondered how long it would take for sleep to come. His contemplation was cut off by a sad whisper:

"I'm sorry to be such a bother to you."

Eyes snapping open, Brockdorff lifted himself up again and turned to stare at Peter in shock. Peter was still lying down, looking somber as he met Brockdorff's eyes. He didn't appear to be crying, but he looked very much as he did after Brümmer was done with his verbal onslaughts or if his father was disappointed.

"Your H- Peter," Brockdorff said, reaching out for Peter's hands that were peeking out from the edge of the blanket. Peter tensed first, but relaxed quickly, allowing Brockdorff to draw both of his hands into his own. Brockdorff cradled them for a moment, rubbing warmth into them upon realizing how cold they were. His thoughts threatened to slip into Brümmer again, to questions about whether Brümmer had tormented Peter with his pointless endurance exercises again, but Brockdorff held firm and told Peter: "I'm your chamberlain. I have sworn to serve you. You cannot and you will not ever bother me."

He held Peter's gaze for a moment to make sure his words sunk in, and after a while darkness faded from Peter's face and he nodded. Brockdorff smiled to him, giving Peter's hands a gentle squeeze before letting them go, and they both took their time to settle comfortably in the bed again. Brockdorff turned his face towards the ceiling, again wondering if sleep was to come quickly or take its time.

But Peter had yet another surprise for him, suddenly snuggling close to his side and bringing his face next to Brockdorff's, brushing his lips ever so softly against Brockdorff's cheek, near the jawbone.

"Good night, Christian," Peter said, voice breaking into a yawn at Brockdorff's name.

"Good night, Peter," Brockdorff replied, almost wishing that he had called his Prince his Highness just to get him a little annoyed at him. Now that Brockdorff's dreams were going to be restless, full of his heart beating as fiercely as the wildest thunderstorm, it would have been nice if Peter's sleep had been a little bothered as well.


End file.
